


Raised by Wolves

by Taeyn



Series: a lot of explosions for two people blending in [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Character Study, Confessing Feelings, F/M, First Kiss, Partisans, Plans Going Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taeyn/pseuds/Taeyn
Summary: Jyn and Cassian are on a rescue mission.(or, there’s nothing like just before a mission to tell someone that you love them.)updated daily for Jyn week: 22-28 May





	1. Faith

**Author's Note:**

> In support of Jyn Week, I was hoping (or, attempting! ^^;;) to do a 7-parter to explore Jyn’s character through the eyes of those close to her, using each of the daily fic prompts as chapter inspiration within an ongoing story. I’m nooot quite sure how this idea worked out in the end, but I’m super relieved have most of it together in time to celebrate (and share the love for!) my favourite rebel sergeant! c: Thank you so much for reading and wishing you a fantastic week! <3

_Even the leaders of the rebellion rarely spoke about the Jedi. Had men like Chirrut been common?_

_Men so certain in their faith that they wielded it like a shield?_

_-Alexander Freed, Rogue One Novelisation_

 

In a small, shadowed cell, Baze Malbus tries to pray. He has lost all track of time, there’s no schedule to the meals. When they are allowed to move outside, it is always dark. Other captives have arrived and gone. Some, Baze thinks, are not true prisoners of war. They are living shrapnel, come to bargain what little they have. They will receive much less for what it was worth, or, Baze considers, perhaps nothing at all.

Chirrut stands at the edge of the space, there’s a crack in the heavy stonework where they both imagine a breeze. He leans on his staff, considering. The cell is empty today, but he seems to be listening.

Baze is sure he didn’t utter his prayer out loud.

“You are thinking of them,” Chirrut announces eventually. There is an openness to his tone that invites a response, even when Baze doesn’t believe he has one.

“Yes,” Baze growls, his voice sounds rough even to him. “I am. Thinking.”

He closes his eyes, he can still see Chirrut’s smile. He remembers it too, from a time when he had one to return. The sun felt hotter and brighter back then, the dust of the courtyard sticking to his sweat.

“I’m not fighting him,” Baze had said, gruffly so that only the master could hear. He doesn’t think he needs to say _why_. He also doesn’t appreciate the twitch of amusement from his opponent, his cloudy blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Correct. You are not fighting.” The master passes Baze a wooden pole, Chirrut calmly waits. “You are learning. You are praying.”

“ _Praying,_ ” Baze grunts, but he widens his stance, settles his weight to the balls of his feet. Chirrut moves lightly, almost carelessly, but there’s something in his face that raises Baze’s caution. His fists tighten around the pole.

_One swift blow from the side, unbalance him..._

Before Baze can retrace the steps, Chirrut darts and ducks, his staff connects with Baze’s ankles. The larger youth stumbles into the earth, redirects his momentum to spin backward and over, pole lifted in time to block a second blow.

He doesn’t see Chirrut’s foot as it sails into his shoulder.

“You are not praying,” the boy calls brightly, Baze spits out a mouthful of sand. “I am one with the force-”

“-and the force is with me,” Baze mutters, but he doesn’t think that’ll help. He twists and lunges, annoyed that Chirrut seems to have given him time to get up.

“-and the force of others is with me.” Chirrut dives effortlessly as Baze swoops his pole, leaps forward as Baze has to recover his bearings. “I am one with the force-”

Chirrut grins infuriatingly, sweeps his leg behind the bend of Baze’s knee.

“-and the force of others-” for a second, Baze feels weightless, Chirrut’s hand is right there, ready to disarm him as he trips. The sun glints on the temple behind them and Chirrut is smiling.

Not because he knows he can win.

Because he believes Baze can too.

In the last moment before he falls, Baze closes his eyes, the side of his wrist connects with the middle of Chirrut’s staff. It breaks with a loud crack, Chirrut pitches forward, and before Baze can take another breath he’s sprawled on his back. Chirrut lands unceremoniously on top of him.

“ _Chirrut!_ ” the word barks from Baze’s throat before he can halt it, the younger guardian’s palms are grazed from stopping himself in the dirt. Chirrut makes a low sound and Baze’s inhale strangles- until he realises that sound is _laughter_ , and not at all what he thought he’d hear on his first day in the monastery.

Baze looks up.

“Thinking. Praying,” offers Chirrut, and through the dim of their prison he can see that smile still.

“Praying we will see them again,” Baze answers, and the admission strikes something deep and burnt beneath his lungs. He remembers her face, strong and unwavering. Her faith had been that they would try, and try again, and try because there was no one and nothing else that was going to save them.

Jyn had given him a chance to pray once more.

Baze doesn’t hear Chirrut’s footsteps, feels the roughness of his palm as the man kneels beside him.

“You should pray more often Baze Malbus,” says Chirrut, and there’s a warmth to his tone that’s never waned with the darkness, steers him home when the tears won’t fall.

Chirrut draws Baze to his feet, quietly steadies him in his arms.

“They are coming.”

-


	2. we don’t all have the luxury

Cassian climbs through the hatch of the U-Wing. Before Bodhi stares up from the logbooks, before Jyn lets the spare ammunition slide from her fingers.

Kaytoo already knows.

“It’s a no-go,” Cassian murmurs, Bodhi’s eyes squeeze momentarily, more watery as he opens them. Jyn redirects her glare to the back of Cassian’s jacket as he turns.

“So that’s it?” she says tersely, Cassian’s mouth has gritted as he busies himself over the dashcontrol. “Did they give a reason why?”

“Several,” snaps Cassian. “None that I agree with.”

Which is Cassian for,  _ and even less a choice. _

“The likelihood of the Council sanctioning this mission was, from the outset, abysmally low,” K-2 offers. Cassian’s posture sinks at the shoulders, he runs a hand over his jaw. He’s either troubled or exhausted, neither of which, Kaytoo considers, are ever good parameters for him delivering Jyn bad news.

“Baze and Chirrut are not alliance operatives,” the droid continues. Cassian draws a breath, slowly lets it out. Kay can infer well enough that his predictions have in this case been accurate.

“The hostile location at which they are placed, coupled with the fact that they have no information which could potentially compromise the objectives of the rebellion…”

“-means it's too risky to rescue them, and nobody loses sleep if we don’t,” Bodhi finishes, a heaviness to his speech pattern that K-2 isn’t familiar with. He runs the sequence past his emotional signifiers, and realises he’s wrong. He is familiar.

Kaytoo feels very much the same right now.

“Okay then,” Jyn says after a beat. “So we don’t get a grand alliance-style sendoff. We’re still going, right.”

Her stare meets Cassian’s, K-2 can’t tell if it’s a question. Based on the sum of Jyn’s previous behaviours, the droid is inclined to think not.

“It’s not that easy,” Cassian says eventually, conceals a wince. His old injury has been bothering him, Kay does his best not to measure the odds of him returning with another one.

“You’ve stood without them before,” Jyn answers. “When you knew it was right.”

“That was life or death,” Cassian mutters.

There is a small silence.

“So is this,” whispers Bodhi.

Cassian lowers his head, alone with his thoughts. Before his mouth hardens, before he asks Kay to calculate a flight path. Before he clips into the seat beside.

Kaytoo already knows.

Bodhi nods, determined. Jyn puts her hand on Cassian’s shoulder, her fingers tighten.

“All the way,” she says.

-


	3. worth fighting for

Some people never come back from the war.

Cassian leans against the rigging, the black of the viewport blurred in glimmering patches, cords of light dragged behind the stars.

“Hey,” Jyn says softly, Cassian wonders how long he’s been standing there. “It’s your turn to sleep too.”

She tips her head toward the rest cots, more gentle than accusing, doesn’t push it when Cassian can’t find the words to answer.

His throat is raw, the tips of his fingers numb.

“I thought they were dead,” Cassian says under his breath, glances toward the ‘fresher as his stomach twists on the words. “I thought they were dead, and I accepted it, and I walked away.”

Jyn’s palm feels cool at his cheek, his face is wet and he doesn’t remember crying. He meets her gaze, won’t shield himself from the disappointment he knows he’ll find there.

Jyn’s mouth presses to a line, she roughs her thumb below his eye. Frowns when it only helps for a second.

“And I didn’t look back,” Cassian says hoarsely, he’s still trying to process her expression. He’s seen it in the field and he’s seen it in the med-wing. It’s the stare so many soldiers have given him, when he’s known it would be their last.

Understanding.

“It’s not over,” Jyn whispers, Cassian hears the sting in her voice too. “They’ve got us, and we have this shot. Maybe it’s their best one. We’re still kicking at least- and... we’re going to make this work.”

Cassian’s mouth hooks at the corners, Jyn breathes out a laugh.

“C’mon,” she offers wryly, “that was at least… half as awful as my one about the sharp stick.”

Cassian would follow her to the end of the galaxy if only to stand by her side.

“Thank you,” he manages, Jyn’s hand ghosts to his jaw before either of them have caught up. Slowly, she kisses him, deep and aching and harsh, kisses him for all that she knows he is. Her exhale skips warm on his cheek, hands tangled in his hair and they stumble, clumsy against the wall.

“We’ve got this,” says Jyn, the words coarse and tender on his lips. “Whatever happens, I’m here.”

She holds him- Cassian realises he’s shaking- the U-Wing makes a low whirr and they don’t have much time. Cassian can still feel the wet of her mouth, his hands are wrung into her jacket.

“Jyn, if I don’t-”

The ship rattles, louder, the comms system’s blinking in the corner of his eye.

“You’re coming back,” Jyn whispers fiercely. Cassian lets himself lean on her, heavy, his cheek presses damp to her hair. “And then I’ll tell you again. That I’m always- I’ll always-”

“Exiting hyperspace in fifteen seconds!” comes a pointed call from the back, and suddenly they’re smiling, breathless and haphazard. Jyn squeezes Cassian’s knuckles, Cassian tries to sniffle himself into some sort of workable state. There’s so much he wants to ask her- no, tell her- Jyn’s mouth pulls crooked, faltering for the words too.

“I’ve always-” is what escapes her.

“I love you,” says Cassian, the stars brighten and flare as they shatter through the brink.

-


	4. need to get out of here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains mild canon-typical violence

The planet is known as Annith, ruin of the lost Annithian civilisation and abandoned since the Jedi Wars. Enveloped in thick jungle, Bodhi has to land by sight, navigating by what stone temples are still left visible. Hanging vines scrape the hull of the craft as they descend, and when Bodhi glances beyond the cabin, vapor from their engine hisses against the fog. 

“You _do_ know why this planet is unoccupied, don’t you,” K-2 inquires, Cassian waves a hand to hush him.

“Yes. Yes. Over,” Cassian finishes, replaces the communicator back on the side of the ship.

“Well?” Jyn whispers. When Cassian nods, Bodhi feels a shot of relief punch from his lungs.

“They’re buying, for now. We’ll meet east of the Sun Tomb.”

Jyn gets up, tightens the holster she’s already tightened. Kaytoo checks the energy-gauge on Bodhi and Cassian’s blasters.

He’s already done that several times too.

“Prisoner exchange,” the droid intones, his calibration veering on dubious. “The statistical probability of Imperial allies _actually_ agreeing to a prisoner exchange, just so you know, is less than-”

“Let’s save the pep talk for the way over,” Cassian growls. Bodhi pats Kay on the arm.

“We’ll be alright,” he murmurs, more confident than he feels. K-2 swivels his head to look at him, dims his eyes a fraction when Bodhi squints.

“Alright,” Kay says quietly. Then, as if to try for something more heartening, offers Bodhi the blaster he’s been working on.

“If they try to reprogram me, I’d rather be shot, dismantled, or turned into one of those irritating gadgets that humans blast noise out of,” he concludes.

“That’s nice, Kay,” Bodhi says weakly.

“Radio K-2SO,” Jyn agrees, strangely close to affectionate. “Catchy.”

They keep up a hushed stream of chatter as they walk, it’s one way to squash the nerves. At the point where they have to split, Cassian pulls Bodhi into a one-armed embrace, his grip firm and sure across the pilot’s back. For a moment Bodhi thinks he’s supposed to say something- something about looking out for the others if it all goes wrong. Instead they only stand a little longer, and Bodhi slowly realises why this all feels so unfamiliar.

Cassian Andor is his Captain. And Cassian Andor trusts him, without reserve and without a doubt, he would place his life in Bodhi’s hands. Bodhi nods, holds his stare.

“Watch out for trip-wires,” Kaytoo says crisply. “And don’t make me come and rescue you.”

Bodhi raises his hand as they disappear in separate directions, then turns and keeps pace with Jyn. Her jaw is tucked down, stare hard, she doesn’t blink or glance back. Ahead lies what was once a vast pyramid, now prised apart by a canopy of roots.

“You okay?” Jyn says gruffly, Bodhi manages a grin. The ferns cling sticky round his ankles, the air seems to drip down the back of his throat. Jyn’s using her knife to cut through the worst of it- a little more vigorously than seems to be necessary- but they’ve still barely looped around the temple by the time Cassian signals on the comlink.

“There,” Jyn murmurs, they crouch behind a ledge of carved stone.

“I don’t see Baze or Chirrut,” Bodhi says worriedly, Jyn’s grimace tells him she’s thinking the same.

Through his binoculars, Bodhi watches as Cassian steps out from the forest. Waiting for him are three sentries, all cloaked in heavy camouflage. Their hoods conceal their eyes, lower faces smeared with warpaint.

“ _Right,_ ” says Cassian, the listening device crackles as Jyn and Bodhi both lean in. “ _Let’s get to it. Where are they?_ ”

One of the sentries makes a brief gesture, the sound is out of range.

“ _Two of us for two of them, was not the deal,_ ” Cassian repeats. They’d anticipated this too, Bodhi feels a tentative hope rise in his chest.

The sentry to Cassian’s left shifts forward- their cloaks all appear to darken as a shadow passes behind the trees.

“Why isn’t he saying anything?” Bodhi mutters. He adjusts his binoculars, focuses on the blurry silhouettes through the leaves.

“Baze?” Jyn whispers, wary, they both flinch in dismay as the captive is dragged from the murk, limbs scraping across the ground.

Kaytoo.

“ _Caught in a wire,_ ” says a rough voice, close enough to Cassian that it carries. The droid is twitching- they’ve done something to him. When he manages to crawl to his knees, he’s swiftly kicked back to the mud.

“No,” chokes Bodhi, he can feel his pulse quickening, his windpipe turns to ash. “No, no, no.”

A bead of moisture splashes from above, cool and saplike, Bodhi can feel the slimy tentacles unfurling across his skin. All of a sudden he’s lightheaded, freezing, the colour leeches out of his vision.

The sentries are reaching for something- _a restraining bolt? A data probe?-_  Bodhi bites into his cheek, trembling, he can taste blood and he can hear fire, the memories surge unbidden.

_Bor Gullet will know the truth._

“No, no, no no no-”

Kaytoo shudders violently, his metal palms graze over the dirt as a metal tool is jammed behind his neck.

“Don’t watch-” Jyn hisses, clutches Bodhi’s arms as he tries to fight himself free. He can still feel the creature, strangling, _asking,_ searching...

Bodhi coughs, tells himself this must be Cassian’s plan too, some part of it he couldn’t share. When he struggles back, sees Cassian’s face- cold, impassive- it hits him in a bolt of anguish that it isn’t.

Cassian has never looked so broken.

K-2 reaches, makes a last, indiscernible sound. Bodhi doesn’t look away.

“Kay,” says Bodhi, his mouth shapes the word but it comes out in a sob. “Get up- I need to- we need to-”

Too far away, Kaytoo turns to him across the cockpit, his tone genuinely impressed.

“ _Well done,_ ” he offers kindly. “ _You’re a rebel now._ ”

“Bodhi,” gasps Jyn. The sentries have lowered their hoods, for a moment they scan the horizon. “We need to go.”

She fumbles for his hand, holds him up from the waist when Bodhi pitches over to be sick.

“We need to go,” she urges, her face is streaked with tears. “We need to go.”

-


	5. not all hope is lost

_“Why did you save us?” he asked_

_“Maybe I only saved her,” Chirrut said._

_-Alexander Freed, Rogue One Novelisation_

There are footsteps, paced and even, Chirrut Îmwe lets his captors guide him through the passageways. Baze is behind him, his stride heavy and resentful, Chirrut can hear a rope chafing against the older man’s wrists.

Chirrut, who has never given cause for concern, is left unbound.

“Who is passing by?” Chirrut asks curiously. The second set of steps are hurried, uncertain. There is something else too, something heavy dragged behind them. Not a living thing, the sound it makes echoes sharp and impermeable. But there is feeling there, like all that moves with the Force, and that feeling is clear and light.

“Outpost guards. And a droid,” Baze grunts.

“A droid. I did not suspect our lodgings had droids,” Chirrut offers, listens to the rustle of cloaks as his companions turn.

Chirrut is correct. They did not expect to see a droid.

“Security type,” says Baze, earns a cuff across his elbow for too much talk.

They come to a halt, Chirrut waits patiently as the two groups exchange murmurs. They do not speak Basic unless they wish prisoners to understand, instead favouring the curt, harder tongue of the outer militia cells. Not Imperial by birth it would seem, and nor, Chirrut has come to understand, by nature.

Instructions are given, and when Chirrut is asked to move again, their direction has changed. They travel upward, this time the droid is hauled along behind them, its limbs scuff and grate in the narrow passage. Chirrut is familiar with this route too, there is a recognisably leafy scent on the way to all higher quarters. This may be his first opportunity to speak with the group’s leader.

Chirrut has waited a long time.

“My teachers,” comes the voice, and Chirrut is not unmoved. On Jedha, the words were once a gesture of respect to the Guardians, spoken now with the tone of one who has heard them before.

_Lived on Jedha, then._

“You have some sentimental friends.”

Baze makes a derisive growl, Chirrut only smiles. Truth ever walks hand in hand with the Force.

The leader sighs, Chirrut feels Baze tense beside him.

_Not yet._

“I have not enjoyed keeping you here,” the Jedhan continues, flat. “I never thought politics would be my lot, until the tide of the universe forced it.”

“You want confession? Got the wrong religion,” Baze snaps, elicits what might’ve once been a laugh.

“I suppose I do. I suppose I don’t,” comes the answer, there’s no bite to the shrug that follows. “Either way, you are free. You and the droid too, once we’ve secured its memory data. Surprisingly resistant to extraction, for a KX.”

Baze huffs, low and gravelly; Chirrut wonders if he almost sounds proud.

“And our sentimental friend?” he asks, leans mildly on his staff.

“Will remain a while longer, until the information garnered from his trade is of use.”

Chirrut draws a sad breath, lets go of the emotion as soon as it surfaces. The Force wavers and swells around him, prickles toward a single pinpoint of bright. From the passage closest to the outside, there is running.

These footsteps are swift and strong.

Baze braces for battle, Chirrut folds his hands and turns.

Jyn bursts into the chamber, the air tightens and snaps, spills into a rush of confused muttering. There is a curt noise, a brush of fabric. The leader has signalled for silence.

“Jyn?” she says quietly.

-


	6. Partisans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters and events mentioned in this chapter are canonically consistent with Alexander Freed’s Rogue One Novelisation (though of course, an expanded twist on those events..) They may or may not be in line with Rebel Rising, which I have yet to read (but I will! ^^)
> 
> Contains mild descriptions of physical injury.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for reading so far, it has meant the world to me!! c:

-

With the char of carbon still bitter on her tongue, Jyn drags Maia behind what’s left of a festival tent.

She is fifteen years old.

“Shitfuck,” Maia says wryly, but the word doesn’t sound so amusing with blood tracing down her jaw. “Fucking troopers and their Force-damn lack of fucking aim.”

Jyn is pressing her hands against Maia’s ribs, blood seeps and wrinkles over her gloves. Maia is pale, trembling, her mouth is dark and red.

“I’d say they got you pretty good,” Jyn whispers, tries to smile because she knows that’s what Maia needs.

Maia winces as she laughs, her lungs make a low gurgling sound.

“Nah,” Maia mutters, her eyes narrow and her chest jerks. “If they got me proper, you wouldn’t have had to ruin your outfit.”

She nods to her waist, now slick enough that it’s hard to know where to press. Jyn’s knees are damp where blood has pooled beneath them.

Maia raises her arms, tugs one of her synthskin gloves from her hand. She flashes Jyn a grin, but her arms collapse back beside.

She doesn’t move again.

-

“I saw you die,” says Jyn, the chamber pops and spins in her head. This Maia stands straighter, her mouth is hard, a badly-healed scar hollows into her cheek. One eye is still more grey than blue.

“And I saw you leave me,” Maia returns, her stare rakes Jyn over too. “In every ship that passed above. Again and again.”

She’s testing, there’s no feeling behind it. Only a few paces away is Chirrut, his head leans a fraction to one side. He’s concentrating- or meditating- Baze keeps one eye trained on him, waiting for some cue.

“They left me too, eventually,” says Jyn, and with some surprise she realises the words no longer sting. “Saw Gerrera did. I was hiding in an old shell turret, all the time believing-”

She’s buying for time, Maia knows it and lets her, Jyn scans the room. The rest are strangers but she can’t help searching- maybe Staven’s here too, with his lectures and his smuggled fermented bantha milk. Maybe in this life, they can all sit back down and work on rigging-up a new detonator, pass out tipsy in the sunrise.

Jyn looks back. Maia’s glare flickers, knowing.

That isn’t the life they chose.

“You came expecting the Imperials,” Maia guesses.

“Yes,” says Jyn.

In a small corner of the world, Codo shyly tries to kiss her, his cheeks bristle warm and pink as Jyn hesitates, pulls away.

_I’m sorry, I just don’t..._

“Did our friendship mean nothing?” Jyn whispers. In the heart of the militia camp, the question could’ve almost sounded foolish. But Jyn is sincere.

“Nothing…” breathes Maia, the word barely catches in the still. Jyn’s biting her lip, doesn’t realise it until the tang of metal soaks into her tongue.

“It kept me going,” Maia answers, so soft Jyn can hear the drip of water over stone. “When there was _nothing_ else left. I didn’t die. And I just kept thinking, that whole night, if they couldn’t take _me_ down…”

Her face creases, and for a moment Jyn wonders if she’s still in pain, how long Maia lay there after she was pulled screaming away.

“-there was no fucking chance anyone was ever going to take down _Jyn Erso._ ”

Jyn’s windpipe slowly closes, a tear blots the corner of her vision. So Maia had known. Jyn wants to ask her when, for how long. Why she kept her secret...

“I lost your gloves!” she blurts, the tear slips from her eye. “That was all I had and I lost them three weeks later!”

Maia looks softer, if only for a second.

“You could stay, Jyn,” she says quietly. “I could find you another.”

In the ache of silence that follows, Jyn feels as lost as she did in the shell turret. All her life she’s been left behind, long stopped waiting for anyone to come back. She’s been a criminal longer than a sergeant, now acted against the alliance and deepened the rift with the extremists. Before that she’d turned away, done nothing whilst her father painstakingly sowed his revenge.

If she had kept fighting, fiercer, sooner...

Blurry now, Jyn sees Chirrut, eyes closed and head tipped gently back. Baze, ready to charge the whole room if only to buy her an extra second. Bodhi, who had stopped shaking when she left him at the U-Wing, his eyes clear and steeled as he strapped into the pilot seat one last time.

And Cassian, who agreed to her plan without hesitation, trusted beyond all Jyn’s ever known that she would come back.

Maia nods, just once. So long ago now, she races ahead of Jyn, always first in the skirmishes, the obstacle courses, first to pick Jyn for her team too.

“ _If anyone ever sticks me,_ ” she yells, throws Jyn one of the old blasters they use for practice. “ _You’d better make damn sure they do it twice!”_

“ _They won’t,_ ” calls Jyn, she’s catching up fast this time. “ _But if they do, I will!”_

From outside the bunker, a single blast splinters through the stone, Jyn dives for Chirrut, Baze wrenches K-2 over his shoulder.

In the smoke, the backfire and echoes and shouts, the Partisan leader smiles.

She expected nothing less.

-


	7. people like us

Jyn expects the lift from atmosphere to be quiet. They’ve disobeyed Council orders, risked critical information in the event of their capture. They went back on a deal, the mission was never intended to trade like for like. And they used potentially lethal force- Jyn still isn’t sure who made it out and who didn’t.

No one is quiet. Cassian reboots Kaytoo at the back of the fuselage, Bodhi jams the craft into autopilot and leaps over two stowage crates, slams into the droid’s chest so hard that he almost sends them both to the floor.

“What are you- you’re going to hurt yourself,” K-2 says incredulously, his long arms hover stiffly in the air as Bodhi hugs tightly round his middle, face buried in Kay’s metal plating. Careful, like he isn’t quite sure how the action works, Kaytoo ventures an arm around the pilot’s shoulders, then gently, the other.

A few paces away, Baze has one large hand gripped firmly into Cassian’s shoulder, his smile curves worn and rough.

Jyn finds herself talking without pause, fragments of stories spilling over as Chirrut binds a wound in her palm. Jyn has no idea where the memories are coming from, there are so many she thought she’d lost.

Across the space, Cassian’s eyes reach for hers, softly creasing at the edges.

“In the tome of the Guardians,” Chirrut muses, considering. “Bravery is not written as a quality of the body. It is of the soul.”

“In the tome of the Guardians, the symbol for bravery looks very similar to the symbol for recklessness,” Baze calls loudly over the engine, and Chirrut answers with a wide smile.

Later, when the rest of the team have fallen asleep swapping accounts of who-did-what-when, Cassian shuffles his sleeping bag to the pod next to Jyn’s.

Tentative, Jyn catches the zip on her own sleeper, tugs a wide enough gap and squeezes up in the corner of the material. When Cassian doesn’t take the cue, she feels a sad lump rise in her throat.

She’s seen it before, adrenaline running high as the stakes. It isn’t personal.

“Jyn,” says Cassian, he’s trying to whisper but the word sounds scraped and torn. “About what I said-”

“It’s okay,” Jyn hushes, quickly to spare him. “I still mean it. I’m still here for you.”

She shrugs, as best she can whilst laying on a metal hull at least, she’d rather see him get some rest before facing Draven. Cassian knots his eyebrows, confused for a second, then untangles his arms from the rest pod, cages both hands tightly around Jyn’s.

“I was going to say-” he swallows, grimaces, Jyn steels herself not to blink. “That I meant every word. But if that’s not something you want, or it’s not the right time-”

He trails off, searching, ash and mud from the jungle is still gritted into his skin. Jyn wants to respond, reaches between her scars for something she can begin to understand.

There’s only peace. There’s only them.

“Jyn…” rasps Cassian, and Jyn draws the clasp of their fingers to her cheek. Unthinking, she grazes a kiss to his palm, closes her hand where his knuckles have started to bruise. He breathes in, sharp, his mouth crumples at one corner.

“I don’t know if there’s ever a right time,” she whispers hoarsely. “For people like us. Who make choices like this-”

She glances around the U-Wing, the creaks and battered equipment, the mud-soaked camouflage and a comms-system they can rely upon to break.

“But I know that I want this,” she continues, her lips are dry and her voice raw. “All of this. Whatever happens and whatever it means. I know I love you too.”

Cassian stares. He trembles his thumb over the hook of her finger, shadows dark beneath his eyes.

“So get over here already,” Jyn breathes a laugh, nods to the empty space in her sleeping bag as Cassian slowly twitches to a smile. He nudges closer, gentle, curls his body into the dips and edges of hers. His limbs are heavy, warm; Jyn’s ear is pressed to his chest and his face buried in the damp of her hair. It feels reckless. It feels brave.

“Tell me one more time,” Jyn mumbles, hopes she’s spent enough tomorrow to forget hearing herself say it. But she’s never seen Cassian smile like he does when he leans up, he kisses her like that day will never come.

“I love you, Jyn,” he whispers, rough on every syllable like he’s only ever heard it in his head. “And I always will.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading my Jyn Week story, I had no idea how this would go and receiving such kind comments, kudos and subscriptions along the way has all been incredibly encouraging, thank you!! :’’)
> 
> Chirrut’s line in this chapter is taken from Mahatma Gandhi’s words on bravery - ‘bravery is not a quality of the body. It is of the soul.’
> 
> The line ‘some people never come back from the war’, used to describe Cassian in chapter 3, is a reference to Firefly. <3


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